


Sever All Ties or Live With Regret

by emirrart



Series: Dorian Gray [1]
Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Painting, Pining, Unrequited Love, also this is just before he "goes to france", artist, basil is vv gay, he's re-painting dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 15:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14523807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emirrart/pseuds/emirrart
Summary: Basil is re-painting Dorian from memory and reminisces about his old friend





	Sever All Ties or Live With Regret

Sighing in exasperation, Basil found himself once again re-mixing a colour he never thought he could mistake for another. Thankfully, the oil paints the painter used had always been on the more malleable side, and he knew he could easily correct what was wrong. But… But that wasn’t the problem.

How on earth had he gotten Dorian’s skin colour wrong? He knew the distinct shade so perfectly in his mind, knew every little spot of darker pink in his cheeks, every freckle that dotted his perfect face, so why couldn’t he recreate it with his hands? He had every shade of pink, orange, and the brightest white oil paints that he could possibly think of. The endless mixes he could have made would have covered 100 canvases, but why couldn’t he create the right one?

Night after night he would think about Dorian sitting for him on his old orange crate, allowing the painter to inhale every detail about him and print it onto the canvas. Day after day he would replay Dorian running to his front door with his childish smile again, and would take Basil in a tight embrace, as if he hadn’t seen him for years. Before he went off with his crowd.

In truth, they hadn’t seen each other for years. Not properly. They would send each other letters, and nod as they passed each other in the street, sometimes even invite each other for tea-and-a-chat, but it wasn’t the same. Dorian wouldn’t speak to him with that angelically innocent voice, wouldn’t allow his cheeks to brighten his face with a smile. All because Lord Henry had poisoned his mind with all the cynical, narcissistic waste that he would spew from his mouth. The painter wished he could turn the clock back to before Dorian had ever met Henry. It was all Henry’s fault that Dorian never saw him.

There was no point in regretting what one hadn’t done. Thinking as if some miracle would allow him to recite the hour of Dorian’s arrival on that joy-ruining day, allowing him to send Henry back to his own home before Dorian had sat down at the piano, before his servant had announced his presence. Before Henry had any say in the matter.

He should have claimed Dorian for his own.

No, he shouldn’t think like that, as if Dorian was some animal, or some ornament he could admire on the wall. Dorian was always a free spirit, even before Henry had gotten involved.

He’d better start packing for France.


End file.
